


She's Always Gone Too Long

by ialpiriel



Series: Sad Baby LW [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Abuse, F/F, explicit mentions of self harm, sarah lives bc im mad and cross exists bc i love her and the games forgot about her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7503886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ialpiriel/pseuds/ialpiriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years post-FO3, Sarah Lyons is very nearly killed in an attack engineered by the Brotherhood Outcasts, along with Star Paladin Cross. The LW begs Amata to open the vault as a safe, unknown place for them to recover, and Amata obliges. As they recover, the LW puts together a plan to make the Brotherhood suffer for what they've done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Always Gone Too Long

**Author's Note:**

> with an amazing piece of art by [quantumghoul](http://quantumghoul.tumblr.com/)!

“Who is this?”

The voice over the intercom is so staticky she can’t identify it, other than it’s one of the men.

“It’s Alex. I need to talk to Amata.”

“Didn’t she tell you to leave?” he asks.

“Yeah, but I need something, and I’ve got stuff to trade in return.”

“We don’t want you here.”

Alex breathes in through her mouth, out through her nose, shifts her weight so her repainted hellfire armor creaks.

“Tell Amata I’m here, and want to talk to her, and I’m glad to do it through the intercom if that’s what she would prefer. I’m not leaving until you’ve let me talk to her.”

“I’m not going to-” The intercom cuts out, and Alex waits a long moment.

“I’m sorry about that.”

This time it’s _definitely_ Amata. Alex pulls herself a little more upright, straightens her back, folds her hands behind herself.

“It’s alright,” she replies. Smiles. “I understand.”

“What did you need to talk to me about?” Amata asks. So it’ll be a conversation through the intercom, okay, that’s fair.

“I have a couple friends, they--they need a place to stay.” She falters. This isn’t fair. She shouldn’t push them off on the vault, but--where else _isn’t_ the Brotherhood? Where else can they go where they won’t be found?

“Why here?” Amata demands.

“They were part of the Brotherhood of Steel--remember when I mentioned them? There’s been a--” She pauses, unfolds her hands from each other, studies the back of her gauntlets. There’s a new scratch on one, that will need painted over. “A change in leadership. Two of my friends were collateral damage. The Brotherhood wants them dead. They’ll be safer here, where the Brotherhood won’t go, than they will with me in Megaton.”

Amata is silent for a long moment.

Alex closes her eyes, breathes, counts seconds. She’s starting to come down off the Med-X, the ache in her hips and shoulders starting up again, lance of pain up her shin as she shifts her weight wrong.

“Will we still be safe?” Amata asks.

“The Brotherhood won’t know they’re here unless one of you tells them, I sure as hell won’t, and I would be bringing them tonight. Or tomorrow, I guess, if that’ll work better.” She pauses, takes one breath. “Also they don’t need any more medical care, don’t worry about that, they just need somewhere to recover for a couple weeks, is all. I can even feed them, pay you all, whatever you want. Please, I just--I just need somewhere the Brotherhood won’t find them. They won’t be a bother. You can even keep them out in the entryway, if you want, they won’t mind.”

“How long will they be here?” Amata asks.

“Two and a half weeks, or so,” Alex replies. Would lean her forehead against a doorframe, sigh, let herself relax. If she had a doorway, if she wasn’t on the intercom, if she wasn’t in power armor. This means they’ll be safe here. Not for long, but for long enough.

“How will you be bringing them?” Amata aska. There's the sound of shuffling paper, scrape of a chair across the floor, and indeterminate _click-click-click_. 

“I borrowed a cart and a brahm--cow, from someone in town. Or, I _will_ borrow it. They said I could borrow them.” Does she always sound this dumb? What's that comedown, not Buffout, not Med-X, can't be Psycho because she didn't dose that this morning. Maybe she does just sound that bad. “I'd be by way of the road, some time after midnight. It would be just me, I'm in power armor but I could leave it at home, or maybe out here in the cave, if you need me to.”

“Will you be able to make the trip without power armor?” It's a hard-edged question, information, not concern. 

Alex snorts.

“I'll be able to make it fine. I made it to town in a vault suit and a leather jacket, I'll be fine in combat armor.” She won't wear the combat armor, it creaks too much, looks too much like a fight to wear here, but the point stands. She’ll wear jeans and a t-shirt and a reinforced motorcycle jacket she stole off a Talon merc four months ago, and the deathclaw gauntlet sized down to fit her unarmored hand. “No one is out that time of night, except the yao guai and the deathclaws, and the yao guai are west of here, and the deathclaws are north.”

“Alright. We'll open the door at midnight, I'll meet you out in the entryway. We have enough space, we can give them somewhere to stay inside the vault proper.”

“Thank you,” Alex says, tries not to sigh in relief. “Thank you so much. I wasn't sure what I was going to do if you wouldn't, thank you.”

“People still don't want you around after what--” There’s a long pause. “Our fathers did. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” Alex agrees, presses one hand to the wall above the intercom-entry panel. Her wrist joints--in the armor and in her arm--creak. “I won’t be around any more than necessary.”

“Is there anything else I need to know before they arrive?”

“They’re, ah.” Alex pauses. “They, and I have some--upgrades. The purifier is up and running now, and we were almost casualties. They’re human, totally human. But we all have some upgrades.”

“Upgrades,” Amata repeats.

Alex takes a deep breath.

“Cyborgs,” she says. “I--we’re--cyborgs.” she wrinkles her nose, closes her eyes; still hates saying that even after all this time.

“As in--” Amata starts, cuts off. Giggles into her hand, audible even through the intercom static.

“Yeah,” Alex replies, voice wavering. “I can--I can tell you more, later, probably.”

“I’m…” There’s a long pause, and Alex breathes deep through her nose, tips her head forward so her chin rests on her armor. “I’m interested. I’d love to hear more, later.”

Alex laughs.

“Alright. I’ll be back after midnight. I don’t want to stay too long after I leave them, since Doc Church is going to want his brahmin back, but--but I might be back after that, if you don’t mind?”

“ _I_ don’t,” Amata agrees. “We'll see you then.”

The intercom goes dead.

Alex turns her back on it, runs her gauntlets down her chest--metal on metal, hands catching on hoses, breathes deeply. It’ll be alright. Things will be alright. Sarah and Cross will be okay, they’ll be safe, Amata doesn’t hate her, maybe she can--maybe she can be friends with people, again. Maybe she’ll be out from under his shadow, finally, for real.

She has to prepare, though, and so she walks slowly out of the cave, waits for the blast of sunlight as she leaves. Med-X comedown always makes her eyes hurt.

***

Moira helps her move Sarah and Cross from the mattresses on the bottom floor of her house, Moira helping hold Sarah up as her legs give under her when she stands, Alex under Cross’s arm doing the same. Moira talks the whole time, Sarah is silent--alert, engaged, but quiet--and Cross says little but smiles at every new thought Moira throws out. Alex stays quiet too, tries to keep track of her fingers. She’s on the tail end of the Psycho comedown, now--after dinner, there had been a yao guai too close to the east wall for comfort, and Simms had asked her to take care of it--and it’s always hard to keep track of her fingers and toes now. Hopefully she doesn’t lose her legs on the way up to the vault.

The brahmin is amenable to the cart, at least, and Moira feeds her an apple as Alex pulls on her jacket, unhooks her gauntlet from its nail by the door and tightens the straps around her arm.

“Be careful!” Moira chirps. “You shouldn’t meet anything worse than a dog on your way to the vault, but you know what the wasteland is like!”

Alex laughs, feels her head spin when she moves too quickly. Not bad spin, like the concussions, but good spin, like there’s not much holding her here.

“I’ll be fine,” she replies. The gauntlet makes her hand sweat, encased in heavy leather, and she already feels sticky. It’s hot during the nights, this season. The humidity never goes down in the basin, and she’s given up on trying to keep her hair under control too. 

Once they’re all loaded, Alex digs through her refrigerator and the crates stacked next to it, fills a canvas backpack with dried meat, fruit, potatoes, the half-bag of sugar she took off the last round of Talon mercs who tried to attack Megaton. The vault probably has all of it, but that doesn’t mean she can’t contribute. Pay their way into the vault in things they already have, that sounds like a plan.

The gate guard waves as she leads the brahmin out into the road, past the Protectron that starts yelling advertisements, again, like it hasn't done this every day for four years and she hasn't responded once. It stops as soon as she’s twenty-seven feet away. She measured once.

The road up is quiet, even the crickets and cicadas silent for the night. The brahmin follows easily, and none of the growing pack of dogs that lives off Megaton’s scrap bothers them on their way up. Cross sighs, says nothing, grunts when Alex hits a rock or a pothole. Sarah remains silent.

The vault door is open, when she unwedges the door into the cave, and Amata is seated in the doorway, holding the hunting rifle Alex pressed into her hands, as they sat in the overseer's office, before she left the vault last time. Amata’s knuckles are white.

“Hi,” Alex says. She tugs on the brahmin’s lead rope, and the brahmin stops, grunts.

“Can I see them?” Amata asks, stands.

Alex laughs.

“Sure. How are you two doing back there?” Alex asks, sets her elbows up on the edge of the cart. 

Cross sits up, leans her weight on the sidewall of the cart. She smiles at Amata, eyes warm and smile broad.

“Well enough,” Cross says. “Although I am looking forward to the possibility of a real bed.”

“Will you be alright to walk?” Alex asks, stands on tiptoe to haul the canvas bag over the side of the cart, loop the straps over her shoulder. 

“I would appreciate support, but I should be able to make it on my own,” Cross replies. “Elder Lyons may have more difficulty.”

“It's just Sarah,” she says. “I’m not Elder anymore.”

“Of course,” Cross says, eminently agreeable. Her face remains carefully blank.

“If you could help Cross, if she needs it,” Alex says, turns to Amata. “I’m stronger, I can help Sarah more.” Alex unstraps the gauntlet from her hand, tosses it into the cart where Cross was just laying.

Cross slides out of the back of the cart, has to lean heavily on the cane Moira provided--”free of charge!”--but she makes it to the door of the vault, Amata watching carefully.

Sarah slowly sits up, inches forward until her legs hang off the back of the cart. Alex sits up next to her, gets Sarah’s arm around her shoulder, helps her down off the cart. They walk together, swing their weight back and forth, and follow Cross--who follows Amata--into the vault proper. The brahmin and cart stay out in the cave.

The halls are empty and silent, and Alex can already feel them closing in around her, tries to breathe deeply, tries to count every prick of sensation across her fingertips as they wind down through the hallways, until they get to the infirmary. The door back to the bedrooms is closed, and Amata pulls out a key, opens it as Cross leans on the gurney, Sarah leans heavier on Alex, Alex tries to count the tile intersections to fight down the nausea.

“I’m sorry we’ve had to put them up in--in your old room,” Amata says, averts her eyes as Alex helps Sarah into her bedroom, picture from her tenth birthday still hung on the wall, baseball bat leaning against the dresser, stack of Vault-Tec-approved pulp novels on the bed stand, the bodice ripper with the words **SECRET LESBIAN LOVERS** emblazoned across the front still on top. Sarah doesn’t seem to notice, just sinks onto the bed with a relieved groan. Cross settles into the room next to it in the short hallway--James’s room--with a grunt and a creak of bedsprings.

“This is certainly private,” she laughs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve slept outside of a barracks room.”

“There should be plenty of privacy here,” Amata agrees. She stays standing out in the clinic room, eyes on the floor, turning the keys around in her hands, matching teeth, then the bow, the tips, the shoulder, then the teeth again, flipping the ring around to match a different pair. “Until we’ve gotten used to you both being here, It would probably be best that you stay here.”

“We understand,” Cross says. “We won’t be a bother.”

“I’ll--” Amata hesitates, watches as Alex grabs the stack of pulp novels, shoves the top one in the bottom drawer of the dresser, replaces the other two. “I’ll bring your meals to you, for a while, at least.”

“We appreciate it,” Cross agrees. “Thank you for agreeing to shelter us.”

Alex opens the top drawer of her dresser, looks through it for all of five seconds before closing it again. She doesn't look through the other drawers.

“Of course,” Amata says. “It’s time we started interacting with the wasteland at large, this is certainly a good first step.”

“Please don’t tell anyone they're here.” Alex’s eyes are wide, and she looks up from where she's now crouched on the floor next to the bed, pulling out one of the flat storage crates she must have taken from a warehouse room at some point. “Please, I brought them here so they'd be secret.”

“Oh, no, I wasn't planning on talking about them out there,” Amata reassures Alex. “Don't worry, I understood your instructions.”

Alex sighs, clicks the box open.

“Hey, Sarah, if you want reading material, my book collection appears to be entirely intact. You can, uh.” Alex grabs one, flips it open. “You can ignore the notes, I was fifteen when I put most of them in.”

Sarah laughs, holds out one hand. Alex places the spine of a book-- **ALIENS FROM MARS KIDNAP MEN TO PROPAGATE THEIR RACE** \--into her hand, flips the crate closed again. 

“Hey, Cross, you want a book too?” she yells, leans back closer to the wall.

“I think I may decline for now,” Cross replies, voice raised just enough to carry. “Although I wouldn’t mind something at a higher reading level than what I’ve seen in your possession.”

“Well excuse me for having lowbrow tastes,” Alex laughs, rolls to her feet. Her head spins, but it’s easier now that she’s been floating on this high for a while. “I’ll see what I can find, I think Moira has a picked over nonfiction section.”

“Thank you, Alex,” Cross says.

“I’ll bring some in for you, uhhhh,” she pauses, looks to Amata. Amata gives her a tiny shrug. “Tomorrow maybe? I’m not sure what I’ll be out doing or if they’ll want to open the door for me, again, so soon.”

“I don’t know either,” Amata says. “If we don’t open the door, you're always welcome to leave things in the cave, and we can get them before the scavengers do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Alex agrees, folds her hands behind her back, taps her toes on the floor without iting her heels. “We oughta let you two sleep though, it’s late.” She glances down to her Pip-Boy, catches the 01:47 and adjusts her leather jacket around her elbow, where it’s rolled up to allow her Pip-Boy room.

“Thanks, for everything,” Sarah murmurs, book pressed to her chest. She’s still on top of the blankets, thought she’s moved to get her head onto her pillow.

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, voice low. Studies the baseboard. “Whatever you guys need, just get a message out to me, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“We will,” Sarah agrees, and Alex shuffles out of the room, past Amata, back out into the hall. Amata follows after her a moment later, catches up, passes her.

“Follow me,” she says, waves Alex along. Alex falls into step easily, digs her Pip-Boy hand into the pocket of her jeans, rubs the two copper coins there together so they grate, hooks her other thumb through a belt loop so her hand swings free. 

“Where are we going?” she asks, studies the back of Amata’s neck. She still keeps her hair up, and still has the three freckles in a lopsided triangle, over the nape of her neck. Her hair is coming loose, so it’s hard to see unless she focuses, tries to remember where they were. It was worth the years of torment from the boys, for always sitting behind Amata-- ”Is she your _girlfriend_?” Wally had sneered, age fourteen, right before she had knocked out one of his canines with a right hook--to memorize those freckles. It’s been years since she thought about them, and it must be the Psycho comedown still chewing at her, even as her fingers and toes stay put, that make her feel like she’s suffocating, as she thinks in circles, traces the pattern with her eyes and her mind, her mind half a step ahead and her eyes never catching up, until she feels her throat closing up and the panic starting to rise in a tidal wave in the back of her mind. She closes her eyes, blocks it out, follows Amata’s footsteps. Pulls her hand from her pocket, sinks her teeth in just past her first knuckle, counts double-- one mississippi one mississippi _two_ mississippi _two_ mississippi-- until that's overwhelming too, sinks her teeth deeper, tries not to think about anything at all.

“Do you remember that storeroom?” Amata asks, voice low. The lights are dim, here, like everyone is settled in for the night.

It startles Alex--almost makes her jump, reach for the pistol she usually keeps tucked into a holster on her belt.

She releases her hand from her teeth, studies the dents across her palm and the back of her hand. Rubs her palms against her thigh, hopes maybe Amata won’t notice because she’ll _absolutely_ do that same concerned face that Cross always makes, and that’s just--not right now.

“Yeah,” she says. She doesn't remember. There are half a dozen storerooms they took refuge in over the years, cleared out one as soon as anyone found it, set up in a new one within the next 24 hours. 

“I thought maybe we could--talk. Maybe.” Amata glances back over her shoulder, and Alex grins at her. It’s wide, and it’s as close to genuine as she can make it.

“Sure, I’d love to.” She drops her voice--not _sexy_ drops her voice, she’s still working on that one, and Moira and Nova and Lucy all laugh at her every time she tries, but friendly drops. Doesn’t have to try to offset the nose or the leather jacket or the deathclaw gauntlet here. Doesn’t need to be cute.

“It’s just--it’s been a while,” Amata sighs.

“Yeah, it has,” Alex agrees. “Have things been alright here?”

“They’ve been moving ahead, at least,” Amata agrees. “Another few months and we might be fortified enough to start trading. Have enough things the outside might want.”

“Honestly, the vault suits sell for pretty good money.” Alex tugs at the collar of her shirt. It’s starting to get scratchy, stiff with dirt, and she needs to lug most of her clothes down to the mouth of the river, have a laundry day. Not worth taxing the water system in Megaton when the river is right there, for free, with a little bit extra elbow grease. “I mean, you don’t see folks wearing them by themselves, but they make pretty good base layers for a lot of other armor. They’re sturdy enough you can can tie or bolt whatever you want onto them, pretty much, if you’re willing to fiddle with it until it all sits comfortable.” She doesn’t think about the fact hers has been shoved into a bottom drawer of the dresser she bought from Moira, carefully ignored for years. Never coming back, never staying here, not a vaultie anymore. In the wasteland, of the wasteland, belonging to the wasteland.

“I’ll keep it in mind. We have enough in boxes, and we can always make more.” Amata runs her hand back over her hair. “We’ve been working on cultivating seeds, too, trying to make them as hardy as possible. We have a few strains of various fruits and vegetables that we keep down in the reactor room, trying to expose them to as much radiation as we can to make sure they'll be able to survive it.” Amata turns sharply around the corner, down a hallway that’s truly dark. It’s been a long time since they used a storeroom here as refuge-- they’d have been fourteen, maybe, the last time. This had been the room where--

The boxes are cleared away, set up on shelves. There’s a bed, in the middle of the room, but more importantly, there’s a couch, and a stack of comic books, and an unopened tin of lemon candy. 

“When you said you would be here, I thought maybe I should give, uh.” Amata considers the tin of candy, stays standing by the door as Alex steps into the room proper, picks up the tin, turns it over in her hands. “Some sort of welcome back gift, I guess.”

“I thought we ate all of these,” Alex murmurs, yanks the pull tab to open it.

“I found it in a vent, like someone made their own secret stash,” Amata admits. “No names or anything though, but I did find a journal dated to 2197, so I think it'd been there a while.”

“Probably,” Alex agrees, turns. She flops back on the couch, picks out one oblong lemon candy without looking at Amata. “Fuck, I didn't realize how much I missed these things.” She scoops out three more, pops them in her mouth.

“Hey, leave some for me,” Amata says, beelines for the space on the other side of Alex, has to step over her legs to get there.

“I thought they were a present,” Alex pouts, sticks out her lower lip. She holds the tin over to Amata as Amata settles in next to her, _just_ far enough away their elbows won't bump accidentally. Amata takes two and pops them in her mouth.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate you sharing,” Amata replies.

Alex sets the tin down on the table, stares at the scuffed toes of her boots. She needs to clean them up again-- buy a tin of wax-charcoal shoe polish from Moira, spend an afternoon picking dirt out of the stitching so the color will stick. She takes her boots off the table--she’s gonna start shedding dirt everywhere, and it doesn't seem right to do that to a table--and stretches her legs out, crosses them at the ankle, presses her hands palms-together between her thighs. Amata crosses her arms across her stomach, crosses her own ankles but keeps her knees bent.

They’re both quiet a long minute.

“I’m sorry for how--things with my father went,” Amata finally says.

“I understand why I had to leave,” Alex replies. The Psycho must have flushed from her system by now, because everything in her skeleton is staying put, even when she deliberately stops moving, crosses her eyes beneath closed lids, tries to set off the floating feeling in her skull. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“I do,” Amata replies, voice hard. Neither of them looks at the other. “I do need to apologize.”

Alex doesn’t make a sound, lets the air fill with their silence.

“How is he doing?” she finally asks.

“He spends his days in--his quarters. He reads a lot. Sometimes he paints.” Amata sighs.

“Is he any good?” Alex asks. “If he is, I bet you could sell his paintings, for caps, if he wants. I know someone who could act as a go-between to sell them.

“I’ll ask him,” Amata agrees, laughs a little. “I think he’s still afraid of the outside.”

“Full of terrors like dogs and people who sell mirelurk meat.”

“If you’ve never met a dog, they’re scary,” Amata replies, laughs again.

“Absolutely terrifying, Mine likes to roll around in the grass and eat his own poop.”

“Oh, gross.” Amata wrinkles her nose.

“I know,” Alex laughs. “I mean, he’s also bitten people, but only after they started shooting at me, so.”

“You should bring him in when you come around again.” 

“I think I will,” Alex agrees. “I haven’t taken him out on any long trips lately and he’s starting to get fat.”

“Then you should definitely bring him in.” Amata nods.

Alex nods too, but doesn’t say anymore. They’re both quiet for a long moment.

“Your dad,” Amata finally says.

“He’s buried. I don’t want to talk about him anymore, because he’s never done me any good.” If she were outside, she’d spit. As is, she rolls her tongue through her mouth, swallows hard. 

Amata nods, and they’re both quiet, again.

“I’m sorry to cut that discussion off, I just--” Alex starts, sighs, tries not to dig her teeth back into her knuckle. Clenches her jaw until the urge passes. “I’ve told you before. You know.”

“Yeah,” Amata agrees. “Yeah. I’m sorry for bringing him up.” She uncrosses her arms, presses the heels of her hands into the couch cushions, uncrosses her ankles and taps her heels on the floor.

“It was a reasonable question to ask, I just--yeah.” Alex presses the heels of her own hands into the couch cushions, turns her elbows and wrists until her fingertips touch the side of Amata’s thumb, the tiniest, frailest point of contact. Neither move their hands, barely breathe. “How has Old Lady Palmer been doing?”

“She’s been doing alright. She asked if I’d had any contact with you, after you left. She would probably like to see you again.”

“I'll go see her when I come back,” Alex agrees, starts to lift her Pip-Boy arm before she realize that will mean moving her other hand too, then replaces her hand on the couch. “I...this is a dumb question--” she laughs, “--but has anyone in the vault gotten married yet? It’s been awhile since I left, and I didn’t even think about--”

“No. There’s been some talk, but no one has. Most of us are waiting to reopen the vault to the wasteland. We all remember biology class, and--with the balance upset the way it is, still, no one wants to marry anyone else.”

“That makes sense.” Alex nods, inches her hand over so the pads of her fingers rest on top of Amata’s thumb. Amata doesn’t move--doesn’t lean into the touch, but doesn’t pull away either.

“What about you? Have to be pretty girls out in the wasteland. Less focus on ‘procreation is your civic duty’ too, I assume.”

Alex laughs, doesn’t move her hand.

“There are a few pretty girls, but none of ‘em are really interested in me. I’ve got too much of a reputation.” Alex tosses her head back, sticks her chin out, laughs at her own performance.

“What sort of reputation?” Amata asks, looks over, grinning. scoots her hand over, further under Alex’s fingers.

She jumps up, then, bangs the back of her calves into the coffee table as she turns, bows and holds out one hand, folds the other arm behind herself. Purses her lips and raises her eyebrows. This conversation has been going well, maybe she can--maybe she can be silly again, like they were years ago, before things got bad and before everything else happened. What’s there to lose, after all?

“Oh, you know, being dashing and unobtainable, far out of their league. The most dashing of all the lesbians, the greatest explorer of uncharted territories the wasteland has ever seen, bare-knuckled hunter of yao guai and deathclaws alike, who faced down the Enclave singlehandedly, and freed the slaves of the Pitt with only minimal help.” She extends her hand farther as Amata laughs at her performance, opens her eyes and looks up at Amata through long eyelashes. “I have a reputation for being taken, because I think _you’re_ pretty cute.”

Amata’s laughter dies into a grin, and she delicately lifts her hand, places her fingertips into Alex's palm.

“I can’t guarantee I can live up to your incredible reputation, or that I can be an adequate damsel of you to rescue, but I--” Amata pauses, looks at where Alex holds her hand. “I like you too. I’ve missed you.”

“Is that a yes?” Alex asks, and her fingers tighten on Amata’s. “Really?”

Amata laughs. 

“Like I said, I don't think I'll be a very good damsel for you, but I do like you. I don't mind, well. This.” She puts pressure into Alex's palm. “I’m--not sure I would mind _more_ either.”

“How much more?” Alex asks, steps over Amata’s legs to plop down on her other side, so their arms cross over their bodies and they're pressed shoulder to shoulder.

“Not much. Yet. It's been a long time since we've seen each other, and things aren't--things aren't what they were back then.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex agrees, nods, her eyes wide, still wondering at Amata’s face. “That's okay. That's totally okay, I'm not gonna push.”

“I just--” Amata starts, but her voice breaks, and she drop a Alex's hand to throw her arms around Alex's neck, pull her into an awkward twisted hug. “I've missed having you around.”

“I've missed you too,” Alex agrees, buries her nose into the side of Amata’s neck, digs her fingers into the vinyl of Amata’s vault suit. “I've missed you so much.”

Amata leans into her and Alex topples back, Amata on top of her. Alex gasps out in laughter, and Amata giggles too, presses her ear against Alex's breastbone. She turns her head after a moment, props herself up, and leans forward.

“Can I kiss you?” Amata asks.

“Yeah,” Alex replies, puts one hand up to smooth back Amata’s escaping bangs. “I would love that.”

Amata leans down, carefully presses her lips against Alex's. Alex twists her fingers through Amata’s hair, holds her close.

Amata pulls away first, lips set and eyes wide, and her stunned look morphs into a grin. Alex smiles up at her, lets her hands slide from Amata’s hair, down to her cheeks, her chin, her neck above her collar, her chest just below her shoulders, still above her breasts.

“Again?” she asks, and Amata leans back down, cups Alex's face in her hands, and kisses her again.

As they kiss--Alex moved her hands back up to Amata’s face, runs her thumbs lightly across Amata’s cheekbones, dry skin rasping softly-- Alex picks up her leg, wedges it under Amata’s so Amata moves her own legs, giggles, pulls away so they can rearrange, until Alex's legs bracket Amatas hips, Amata kneeling on the couch, Alex with one leg off the edge, her boot skidding on the floor, her other foot wedged halfway between the cushions and the back.

It's Amata who pulls away, again, plants one hand on Alex's shoulder, sits back, looks down at Alex, sprawled across the couch.

“If this is all the further you want to go, I'm okay with that,” Alex murmurs, voice low and rough, eyes half-lidded and dark.

“I think it is,” Amata agrees, reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “For--tonight, at least. I should go to bed.”

“And I have a Brahmin I should deliver back to her home.” Alex sits up, scoots back, hunches her shoulders. Grins back at Amata, who sits back on her heels. “You know where I am if you ever need me to come spice up your night.”

Amata giggles, and it turns into a snort.

“I don't think that will be necessary,” she says, gently hits the side of Alex's knee with the back of her wrist. “I would like you to come back and visit though.”

“I’d love to.” Alex swings her leg off the edge of the couch, thinks for a moment before scooping up a handful of lemon candies and dumping them into her pocket. “You can keep the rest, if you want.”

“I never liked the lemon ones much,” Amata admits, scowls at the can. “They're alright.”

“More for me,” Alex replies, tucks the can against her chest with one arm. “You know, I think I know some kids who would really like these.”

“You already like them, why are you giving them away?” Amata asks, stands.

“You have obviously never interacted with children. You treat ‘em, you talk to ‘em, you get two tiny people who like you near unconditionally. Sometimes I have ‘em draw on shitty people’s houses in crayon. Doesn't wash off and they think it’s great.” She tucks her coat around the can. “Plus I just like to see ‘em happy. Keeps my reputation around town from getting too scary.”

Alex stands, shuffles her jacket around, zips it halfway, so the can stays upright. 

“I’ll be back later today, after I’ve got-” a yawn overtakes her, and she presses a hand to her mouth. “Gotten a nap,” She finishes with a sigh out her nose. 

“When should I bring them food?” Amata asks, puts her hands on her knees and watches Alex pace around the other side of the room, not quite ready to leave but clearly not willing to stay.

“Whenever you eat,” Alex replies. “Really, I can provide for them, don’t worry about it, I just--”

“Calm down,” Amata laughs. “I just meant when should I bring them food, not what food should I bring them.”

“Oh, right, sorry, I’m--” She shakes her head. the Psycho _has_ worn off now. It’s getting harder to keep track of her thoughts, now, as her skin starts to itch. Now she doesn’t have a kiss to distract her either, from the twinge in the back of her neck that crawls up through her skull, leaves her wanting to claw at the track marks on her arms until no one will be able to see them again, won’t be able to know at a glance. Amata hasn’t seen them yet. Maybe she won’t ever, depending on how this turns out. “Tired,” she says, smiles at Amata. Tries to let herself look more exhausted than she feels. The Doc is always on her about her addictions, and Nova keeps commenting that she looks sick, tired, worn down. Maybe Amata won’t know the difference between Psycho-tired and two-in-the-morning-tired.

“Don’t worry about it,” Amata replies, nods. “Do you want me to walk you up to the door, or is that--?”

“I can show myself out,” Alex disagrees, shakes her head. “You just go to sleep.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Amata asks, hope tingeing her voice.

“Today, yeah,” Alex laughs, holds up her Pip-Boy, taps the clock in one corner. “You get some sleep, you got a lot of people expecting you to do the right thing. I got a dog is all.” She shakes her head, smiles again. “Talk tomorrow.”

She leaves, then, doesn’t wait for Amata to say anymore, needs to get out of the vault--feeling close and claustrophobic now, as the itch crawls up the back of her wrists, too, through the muscles of her palms, along her sides just beneath her ribs.

She knows the way back up almost without opening her eyes--done growing before she left, no obstacles in the halls anymore, still has the muscle memory from the nights she and Amata would wander, talk, giggle over dumb jokes and read books to each other. Still feels familiar, and snatches of their conversations drift back to the top of her mind--lines from books, an overwrought play Amata has stolen from Brotch’s classroom one day, so they could read it and act out all the death scenes, giggling over the stupidity of the characters.

The brahmin is still standing in the cave, heads down, tail flicking.

“Come on, girl,” Alex murmurs, backs her out of the cave, turns her around on the rock ledge and starts the walk back to Megaton.

***

She brings a book on airplanes, for Cross, a dozen mirelurk cakes in little white paper boxes for the two of them, as many mutfruit as she can carry for the rest of the vault. She leans against the console and waits for the door to open--Amata closed it behind her last night, apparently--walks, alone, back down the halls to the clinic.

Cross is sitting up, a lapdesk scattered with cards in her lap. She sorts them out, and Alex leaves the book and two of the paper boxes--six cakes, three to a box--at the foot of the bed. Cross nods, and Alex nods back, heads to Sarah’s room. Sarah is still laid out flat, book held above her head.

“This plot doesn’t make any sense,” she says, instead of a greeting. “Why do they need human men?”

“Author has a dick,” Alex replies, sets the mirelurk cakes on the bedside table, slides her backpack off her shoulder. “Only reason the humans need to stick their dicks in things. The author has a dick.”

Sarah snorts out a laugh. 

“There is a lot of sticking his dick in things here, yeah.”

Alex settles on the edge of the bed, stretches out her legs and kicks flakes of dirt off the sides of her shoes.

“I brought up some mirelurk cakes, if you don’t want to lose meat from your diet.”

“Thanks,” Sarah grins as she sits up and reaches for the boxes. “Are these yours?”

“Nah, Brass Lantern. Theirs are better than mine, I just bring them whatever mirelurk I find anymore.”

Sarah peels open the box, picks up one cake, takes a bite.

“Doesn’t Rivet City have a bar that makes them too?”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “They're alright, I guess. Brass Lantern’s are the best I’ve had.” She shrugs, bends down to open up the bottom drawer of her dresser and pull out the book she left there last night. She tucks it into the inside pocket of her jacket, where no one else can see its title, or front cover, or the scraps of paper littered through the pages. “Also the Lantern’s closer.”

“A good point,” Sarah agrees, takes another bite of the mirelurk cake, wipes one hand on the velveteen blanket. “So what's your plan for once we can leave?” she speaks loud enough Cross can hear through the wall.

“Get you out of here, first.” Alex presses her hands together between her knees. “Out of the capital--maybe north, or maybe west. I've heard good things about the Commonwealth, about there being a lot of people you can blend in with.”

“What about you?” Sarah asks. “We can blend in, but you--” she narrows her eyes, studies Alex's profile. “You already have a plan, don't you?”

"Nothing specific." Alex shakes her head. "Some vague ideas."

"What sort of ideas?" Sarah demands, sits up a little more, curls her hands into her blanket.

Alex snorts.

"Vague ones." She rubs at her arms through her sleeves. "I need to talk to some people, see if I can hunt down a few others, and then see if they're in. I'll tell you once the plan is more...concrete." She scowls. "Once I have a real plan, I'll tell you what part you play in it."

"Alright." Sarah nods.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping right now?" Alex asks.

"I am perfectly capable of putting myself to bed."

"Are you sure?" Alex asks, tilts her head and grins, feels herself slosh around inside the confines of her body--the moonshine and the Psycho together, this time. "There aren't any paladins to kiss your forehead and tuck you in anymore."

"I'm sure Cross would do it, if I asked." Sarah laughs, then giggles as Cross harrumphs in the next room.

"I'll leave you two get some rest." Alex stands--sloshes less, now that she's expecting it, which is nice, and also a little disappointing--and excuses herself from the room, tucks her jacket close to keep the book hidden in her jacket.

She winds her way down the vault until she reaches the Overseer's office. Amata is leaning back in the chair, tapping a pen next to a clipboard full of numbers. Alex doesn't really care what they are, but Amata seems to be concerned, so--

"What are you doing?" she asks, leans in the doorframe.

"I'm trying to do some math, about trading, based on the figures Ms. Cross gave me."

"Oh, wasters sell really high to Brotherhood. Brotherhood just pays. You can probably halve the prices on a lot of things."

"What about selling?"

"They'll buy higher, too, especially if you show 'em you don't mind wasters at all." Alex steps into the room proper, studies the curves of Amata's face. She's still chubby, even after all this time. She's still cute. "They also sell better if you flirt with them." She gives a broad wink, and Amata giggles.

"I think I'll leave the flirting to others," she replies, turns her chair to face Alex as Alex leans across the desk, then hops across it with a swing of her legs.

"Oh, but they would think you're so _cute_ ," Alex replies, feels herself sloshing as she grins, leans forward on her hands, looks Amata in the eye. "Look at you, with your round cheeks and pretty eyes and soft tummy. They would think you were the cutest."

Amata giggles, ducks her head.

"Hey," Alex asks, leans forward more, until she's almost bent double, rests her hands on her knees. “You wanna kiss again? It was really nice last time."

"Sure," Amata agrees, scoots her chair closer, leans up to press her lips to Alex's as Alex leans back, too, unbends her spine a bit.

Amata pulls away almost immediately.

"Have you been drinking?" she asks, scoots back, just out of reach, curls her hands tight across the armrests of the chair.

"Just a little," Alex replies, can read Amata's face well enough that the anger starts to swell in her gut, too, know that again, again, _again_ she's _still_ not good enough, still not good enough for _someone else_.

"I don't want to kiss you when you're not sober," Amata says, slow and careful. "I want to, when you're not drinking or--anything else, I don't know, but I don't want to if you're not."

“Okay," Alex says. It's all she can manage, trying to fight down the anger-swell of Psycho--she's a happy drunk, Nova always says, scrubs her hand through Alex's hair and laughs, but she's _mean_ on Psycho, one of her usual dealers says with the same laugh, hands over another nine syringes, just enough to get through the week. "I should, uh, I should go, probably, I have, uh, things I need to do out--out there." And suddenly the vault is suffocating, too, closing in, staring back at her with eyes in every wall. The Overseer is always watching. The Overseer knows. Dad knows, Jonas knows, Old Lady Palmer knows, everyone knows. Everyone knows everything, everyone has heard the stories. Everyone knows she's no good at good science like James was, just good at blowing shit up, hitting boys, hauling boxes around, not anything worth being good at. It's strangling her again.

"Alright," Amata says, still slow and careful. Is she expecting Alex to break? She has to be. She has to be. There's no way she's not, not with the way she's watching Alex's hands, she has to be _waiting_.

"I'll, uh, I'll be back some time soon, I don't know when, I gotta talk to some people about some things, out there." She jumps off the desk, turns and nearly runs from the room without looking back.

She meets no one on her way up, lets herself out, makes it out of the vault, hears the door screech shut before she has to do something, anything. Needs to _hurt_ , and she digs her teeth into her knuckle until tears prick in her eyes and she tastes blood, holds for longer than she should. Hears Doc Church's lectures on human oral bacteria. Hears James talk about the same thing. Sees pictures of them lance behind her eyes, so fast she can't identify them in more than impressions.

When she lets go, she has blood dripping across her knuckles and her palm, bright and red against her dark skin.

She tries not to touch anything on her way back to Megaton. She has bandages, a dose of Med-X, back in her home--bandages, Med-X, a dog who will lay on her chest and sigh every few minutes as he dozes. The box of garden gnomes she keeps by the door so she can set them up on her roof, shoot them one by one when she needs to. Has everything she needs at home. Not Amata though. not yet. Just wants to kiss her, go down on her, let her sit on her face until she's gasping and panting, then cuddle her afterward, kiss the back of her neck, tell her nice things while she falls asleep. Want to make dinner, cook deathclaw and carrots and potatoes and crunchy mutfruit, arrange it on a plate so it's pretty, for once, just--something nice from the wasteland.

_"Not while you're not sober."_

it echoes in her head until it drowns out everything else, and she whirls on a building in Springvale, cracks her knuckles against a support beam of a house. It makes a protesting noise, but doesn't splinter or buckle or even sway.

She'll need a stimpak. Only one, to the back of her hand, keep it still for an hour or two until the pain subsides. _Pain will subside faster with Med-X_ a not-helpful voice supplies from the back of her head.

"No drugs," she says, to the eyebot still patrolling back and forth through town. She had captured it, once, reprogrammed it so it wouldn't beam anything back to whatever was left at Raven Rock. Now it fires at Enclave troops, only. And the occasional yao guai that wanders into town, a bug she hasn't been able to figure out yet, but doesn't really mind. "I can't go cold turkey," she says, as it sails past, blaring patriotic music. "That will definitely kill me, or make me start in again, or leave me puking sick for days and days and days." The eyebot doesn't respond, continues down the street. "Maybe I can get her to compromise?" Alex calls after it, sinks to sit next to a mailbox. Leans one temple against it, half-curls one hand to try to minimize the pull on the skin.

The eyebot sails past again, still blaring music.

***

"Hey, Bonny!" Alex waves at the raider with the half-shaved head, who waves back from the top of the silo. Alex waits in the ground floor doorway, hands in her pockets, turning caps between her fingers. Bonny slides down the ladder and lands with a _thump_.

"What am I doing you for today?" Bonny asks, fishes out the key on a chain around her neck.

"The usual, but a dose less of, uh." Alex scrunches her face up, tries to think. "Psycho is all, I think."

"Aw, shit, you going off it?" Bonny asks, squats down next to the cooler to unlock it.

"Nah, but I got a date with a cute girl who said she won't kiss me if I'm high, so." Alex shrugs. "I'm sober on Sunday night."

"Ooh, who is it?"

"Not someone you would know, believe me." Alex shakes her head, but grins. Pushes off the doorframe. “Hey, I got another question."

"Five caps for an answer, ten caps for an honest answer, thirty caps for an answer where I actually try to be helpful."

"Fifteen."

"Twenty five."

"Twenty."

"Deal."

Alex hands over the caps, and Bonny starts moving chems from the cooler to Alex's cardboard transport box.

"Do you remember anything about a raider, name of Catherine? Would have been running maybe, uh, more than twenty years ago?"

Bonny throws her head back and laughs.

"How old do you think I am?" she asks.

"I'm not asking if you _knew_ her, I'm asking if you know _about_ her."

"Never heard of her. Think there was a group though, uh, not Springvale but maybe at that bed and breakfast? Think they've got an old-timer who might know the lady you're looking for."

"Thanks, that actually helps a lot." Alex hefts her box under her arm. Bonny relocks the cooler and scrubs a hand across her head. Alex sees fleas go jumping, and tries not to take a step back.

"Sure thing. You have fun on your date, and tell me if you find this Catherine lady."

"Oh, Catherine is dead," Alex replies, shrugs. "Been dead a long time. Looking for some of her old friends."

"Oh, well, shit." Bonny shrugs. "If you're just looking for old timers, I think there's some in a lot of the groups around here. Mighta been a couple in Super-Duper Mart, but you heard about them."

"Shit, yeah," Alex agrees. "I'll see who I can find. Thanks for your tip."

"Yeah!" Bonny agrees. "Now I gotta get back up to my post before Ratsy gets on my ass about it." She rolls her eyes, starts climbing the ladder again.

***

"Hey!" Alex yells. "Ain't got weapons. Got forty caps for each of you if you can let me talk to someone who used to know someone named Catherine more than twenty years ago!" She hold up her empty hands, first, then the mirelurk-cake-box full of caps. She carefully avoids the .44 pistol tucked into the back waistband of her pants, just in case shit goes south.

An old man--and he's _old_ even if a calendar would call him the same age as Catherine and James would have been--hobbles out, one foot twisted all wrong but apparently done healing.

"Caps first," he demands, and Alex tosses the box so it lands at his feet.

"Hey, Lou, come count these."

A raider--maybe twenty, still young and and with barely-stubbled cheeks--scrambles out of the house, snatches the box, and runs back to count. Alex and the old man raider stand, staring at each other, until Lou yells back, "She's good!"

"Catherine, right?” the old man says.

"Yep," Alex agrees. "About my color, had the same nose," she turns her head, gives him a profile view, "had a brain for chems and a hand for grenades."

"I remember her." He grunts. "Ran in the metros down south for a while."

"You know if any of her old crew are still around?" Alex asks.

"Probably in the metros down south." The old man shrugs. "You got me there, dunno, don't care, as long as they don't ever come up here and starting throwing fucking grenades at us. Have enough trouble with the bozos out of Arefu, and now with them gone we got trouble with Talons and those black-suited freaks." He shakes his head. "That's all I got."

"Right," Alex agrees. "Thanks. Hey, you guys sell chems?"

"You buying?" the old man asks, turns his head to look at her from the corner of his eye.

"If you're selling same or cheaper than my usual dealer," Alex agrees.

"Hey, Jumbo," the old man calls over his shoulder. "Bring me what we got sitting around."

***

"Hey!" Alex yells down the metro tunnel. She walks as loudly as possible, kicks rubble against the rails and the concrete walls, stomps through puddles, hums. "I wanna talk to the oldest person you got! I'm looking for someone and I was told to come here."

"Who you looking for?" a woman's voice yells back.

"Someone who knew Catherine, more than twenty years ago!" Alex calls back. "I have the caps to pay for information, but I'm looking for anyone who used to be in her old gang."

"Why?" the voice demands. Alex stops when she hears the warning click of a gun being cocked.

"I'm her daughter, and I got the stories to prove I'm as good a fighter as she was, and more importantly, you wanna fuck with those Brotherhood assholes?"

There's a long silence, the drip of water in a distant tunnel, the _skritch_ of molerats through their tunnel just outside the walls, the baying of someone’s dog three stations back.

"I have a plan, and I have the equipment and the tech and the chems to do it right. I just need the manpower. I figured any of dear old Mommy's crew would be the best place to start."

"Why raiders?" a different woman's voice, older, creakier, like she's been smoking for decades. "Why us?"

"Townies don't like fighting," Alex replies. "Can I come in and sit down? I have the whole plan drawn out, I'm free of weapons, I'll pay you to hear me out on this."

"How much?" the second woman demands.

"Forty caps a head."

"Come on in, but we're frisking you first."

"Understood," Alex agrees.

A light blinks on, illuminates a path strewn with what look like homemade powder charges, the first just a foot and a half from Alex's toes.

"Catherine taught me how," says the second woman, leaning across the wall. She has gray hair pulled back into a tight bun, dark brown eyes and dark brown skin, deathclaw horns bolted onto the pauldrons of her armor. She tosses a baseball in one hand, with a flick of her wrist.

"I never met her, but I'm told I take after her." Alex stays standing in front of the minefield.

"Thought you were her daughter?" the first voice says, accusingly, and a blond girl, can't be more than seventeen, pops up over the wall.

"Died in childbirth." Alex pats her chest with the heel of her hand. "Heart trouble. Brought on by the chems, daddy dearest said, when he wanted to get me off them."

"Well, shit.” The second woman sighs, leans further over the wall. She drops the baseball somewhere behind her. "Come on over, let's talk." She disappears down behind the wall then, the rattle of a chain echoing through the tunnel before and as the door swings open.

Alex picks her way across the minefield, fingers curling and uncurling as she picks between the pressure plates. The blond girl stands in the doorway, waiting. The older woman moves around somewhere behind her, and crates scrape across the floor just out of Alex’s view.

When she steps through the door, she's greeted by something that almost looks like home--three mattresses propped on crates, a folding card table with mismatched chairs, an ancient refrigerator plugged into a rattly microfusion-powered generator, a shelf stacked with canned food and books and a stuffed bear.

“So, why now?” the old woman asks, settles back on a stepladder that leads up to their battlement-walls. “How come you didn’t come find us whenever?”

Alex pulls herself taller in the doorway-- tall in the vault, taller out here-- and folds her hands behind her back. “Locked in a vault because of my asshole father, for nineteen years, didn’t have a personal stake in it until a few weeks ago.”

The girl narrows her eyes.

“So you wanna use us now that it's personal. You wouldna cared if you didn’t have a personal stake in it.”

“You give a shit about Megaton? You care about anything that’s not yours to care about in the first place?” Alex asks, leans forward just enough to make the question pointed.

The girl grunts, looks her in the eye, doesn’t say anything.

“So why us?” the woman asks. “There’s two of us, we can’t do jack shit by ourselves. Milly, what do we have for weapons?”

“One assault rifle and a whole lotta lead pipe. And a baseball bat. And the minefield.”

“I can get you weapons and armor, that’s not a problem.” Alex steps out of the doorway, leans against the wall to her left, so she can look at the old woman and Milly without craning her neck. “What I need is people who are willing to shoot things. Megaton doesn’t have an investment in this, neither does Rivet City, Arefu, any place where they have money and things to trade.” She uncrosses her arms and digs her hands into her pockets. “You want clean water? You’ll get it faster if you help me shoot the bastards keeping you from it.”

Milly and the old woman look at each other.

“So how do you do it?” the old woman asks. “Explain your plan to me.”

“Grenades,” Alex points back out at the minefield. “Power armor, sniper rifles, enough people you can flank a patrol. There’s no way to take the purifier in one push, it’s too easy to defend from the inside. The best way to do it is to pick them off, one by one, or in whole groups if you get them with the right grenade, and take out who you can, when you can. Wear them down, not start an all-out war.”

“We’ve been trying,” the old woman replies, leans up on one elbow, curls her lip and wrinkles her nose. “Hasn’t gone too well, ‘cause if you notice we’re the only two left here.”

“Have you ever used power armor? You know where to shoot someone in it?” Alex asks. “Or are you just guessing and shooting at the most heavily armored parts because that's what works with other raiders and against farmers.”

The two raiders look at each other.

“Don’t gotta keep you around if you ain’t gonna show respect, kid,” the old woman says. “Only let you in because you said you were Catherine’s, don’t blow it because you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“I know where to shoot someone in power armor,” Alex says, schools her face blank. “I can teach you, and I can equip you, but I need more people to help.”

“What’s your personal stake?” Milly asks, instead of giving an answer.

“Tried to kill a couple friends of mine for political reasons. It didn't take, and I don’t appreciate it. Leadership is getting shitty, too, from what she’s told me. Should have seen it coming, but here we are now.”

“You want us to try to kill power armored assholes because you got a friend they tried to kill. That sounds all fair and square.” The old woman snorts.

“You want fresh water, you want better weapons, you want a chance at not being exterminated the next time they decide the wasteland is better without you?” Alex asks. “Do you want the Brotherhood of Steel dead, or not?”

Milly and the old woman look at each other.

“Give us a couple days to decide. Where do we get a message to you?”

“Megaton, ask for Alex at the front gate, tell them to tell me, and I’ll come out and meet you. Maybe ditch the raider getup and the facepaint. Try to look like you’re a couple farmers or something, I dunno. Try to not look like raiders.”

Milly snorts, but nods. The old woman nods too, narrows her eyes, weighs Alex.

“We’ll have an answer inside three days.”

“You're gonna have to work with other raider groups, too. It’s not gonna be just you two. Even people you’re enemies with.”

“As long as I don't have to look at the bastards, I’ll be fine. If you pay us enough, we ain’t got a problem with all the other gangs. It’s all about who’s got the most clean water and safe food and the best chems. You get us all that, I ain't got a problem with anyone in this whole damn wasteland except who you tell me I got a problem with.” The old woman snorts, and Alex laughs.

“I can do that,” Alex agrees. “You bring yourself, I bring everything and everyone else.”

The old woman nods.

“We’ll have a real decision within three days. Now git.” She waves Alex back toward the door, still doesn't move from her stepladder, and Alex laughs as she ducks out the door.

***

Bonny’s crew shows up four days later, and Alex directs them back down to the Super Duper Mart, and then Milly and the old woman show up, and then Jumbo and the old man and the rest of the crew. Others trickle in, solitary raiders and crews and in one case, a dozen of them all together, arm in arm, laughing and jostling.

Four women show up in Pitt-origin armor, stony faced and silent, set up their mattresses and supplies in their own corner of the Mart while the rest of the raiders jostle and haggle for the best spots, try to trade chems and food and weapons.

People stop coming in after a week, after there's seventy people arranged through the whole Super Duper mart, split into crews and pairs and friends.

Alex starts bringing in weapons on day eight, brings in a brahmin loaded down with assault rifles, explosives, pistols. The next day she brings a pair of miniguns, a half dozen plasma rifles. The day after that, laser pistols.

She starts bringing ammunition on day eleven.

She goes up to the vault to visit Amata on day thirteen.

***

“No kissing,” Amata says, holds up one hand. Alex tries not to shrink. “But can you take off your jacket?”

Her first instinct is _no I can't, because then you'll see_ , but instead she shrugs it off her shoulders, holds it at her elbows. Not quite low enough to see the scars, but low enough to maybe get the idea they're there.

“All the way off?” Amata requests. Alex nods, carefully lets it drop to the floor. Angles her wrists and the insides of her elbows. She holds her arms out and Amata step a closer. “Do they hurt?” Amata asks.

“Some of the new ones still sting,” Alex agree. “But most of ‘em are just scars, now.”

“How long? What drugs?” Amata carefully--slowly--picks up Alex's wrist, studies her arm.

“Since a month or two out of the vault,” Alex whispers. “It’s just--easier. I spend a lot of time punching raiders to death, and I--I feel less, when I’m on Med-X, and even less on Psycho.”

“Are those the only two?” Amata asks. Alex shakes her head.

“Three tabs of Buffout in the morning, Psycho when I need to punch shit or when I'm getting bad, Med-X when the last dose wears a off, a little bit of booze at the end of the night to calm down.” She looks away from Amata, but doesn't pull away when Amata picks up her other wrist. “I'm...kind of a mess.” She laughs, high and fragile, shifts foot to foot. “Less of a mess than when I started using, but uh.” She laughs again. “Still kind of a mess.”

“Do you want to stop?” Amata asks.

“No,” Alex replies, drops her chin to her chest. Knew that was the first question that was going to come out of Amata’s mouth, so at least she was expecting it. “But I know you don't want to kiss me if I'm drunk I high, so I'm--I'm really stuck.”

“There are times when you're not on anything, right though?” Amata asks. “An evening, or an afternoon, or a morning?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Alex agrees, look at Amata’s face. Amata is still studying her arms. “Depending how long I'm off what I might not be any fun to be around, but there's times I'm all sober.”

“Alright. Pick an afternoon or an evening, however long.”

“Uh.” Alex freezes, and her arms go stiff in Amatas hands. “Like, June tenth? Or like, Sunday.”

“However often,” Amata replies.

“Every other Sunday?” Alex suggests.

“Alright. Every other Sunday, we have a date night. You'll stay sober and we'll spend some time together, alright?”

“I can do that,” Alex agrees. “Do you--wanna start this Sunday, or wait until the next one?”

“Sunday is two days, you think you can manage with that little planning?”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, finally pulls away to reach down for her jacket. She slides it back on, rolls her shoulders so it sits right again. “Less time I think about it the better.”

“Alright,” Amata agrees. “How sober are you right now?”

“I’m at the tail end of my Med-X dose so I’m not--not _really_ high because all it does is keep away pain, and in order to get anything else from it you have to-”

“How sober are you?” Amata asks.

“The most sober I'll get today,” Alex replies. “I mean, I think I’m all here, so I'm probably pretty sober, but I'm not sure how you feel about it all.”

“How can I tell?” Amata asks.

“Tell if what?”

“Tell if you've used Med-X.”

“Oh! Uh, pupils constrict, is the easiest thing to see, most other symptoms are easier to hide of don't show at all.”

She places one hand on Alex's cheek, and Alex bends enough, tips her head, so the overhead light hits her eyes

“Your pupils look dilated right now, actually,” Amata murmurs.

“That's ‘cause you're cute,” Alex laughs. Amata giggles and leans in for a kiss.

***

“Sarah, Cross, these are your escorts.” Alex mock-bows, gestures to Jumbo, Milly, and a woman Jumbo introduced as Tricks. “They'll be taking you out west somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah,” Milly agrees. “We got like, a trio of towns a few days away that you can hide in, but we ain't sure which you wanna pick.”

Cross reaches over to squeeze Sarah's shoulder.

“We are glad to be on our way,” Cross says, nods her head, smiles close-lipped at Tricks, who beams back, shows off her missing teeth.

“Alex, can I talk to you?” Sarah says, voice high and tight.

“Sure,” Alex agrees, waves Sarah over and behind a closable door.

“They're raiders,” Sarah hisses once the door has closed. “they're going to rob us and leave us for dead as soon as you're not looking.”

“No they won’t,” Alex replies. “Look, we talked it out. They hate the Brotherhood and know that if they turn on me, I’m going to personally hunt them down and use them as examples.” Alex shifts back on her heels, tilts her chin up. She’s taller than Sarah, when Sarah is out of armor. Sarah mirrors her pose, puts on her Elder Face, looks Alex in the eye.

“They’re raiders,” she repeats.

“And raiders are a superstitious bunch, and I’m a reincarnation of my mother who died giving birth to me.” She crosses her arms. “Trust me on this.”

“Are you fucking--high?” Sarah asks, voice rough, scrubs a hand back through her singed-short hair. “Did they give you drugs? Is that how they convinced you to do this?”

Alex drops her chin.

“That’s low, and you know it,” she says, voice quiet. “I don’t go back on my promises, and I have more of a reputation than you think I do, and you can trust what I say.”

She and Sarah stare each other down for a long minute, before Sarah sighs out her nose, closes her eyes, and nods.

“Alright. Alright.” She rubs at her eyes, the sides of her nose, with her fingertips. “Do we have weapons? Can we defend ourselves if it comes to it?”

“I have a couple plasma pistols, if you think that’s enough.” Alex drops her crossed arms, shoves her hands in her pockets, plays with the bottlecap she finds at the bottom of one. “If you’d like something else, you can detour down to Megaton, and I’ll get something out to you.”

“The plasma pistols will be fine,” Sarah agrees.

“I’ll come check up on you in a week and a half, alright?” Alex shuffles around to the back of her belt, lifts her jacket, pulls out one plasma pistol and presses it into Sarah’s hand. Sarah tucks it beneath her own jacket, smooths her hands down her front. “That gives them time to get you there, get back, and then for me to come find you.”

“I hope these raiders are as trustworthy as you think they are.”

Alex nods, but doesn't say anything.

***

She shows up at the vault, overshirt buttoned all the way up and tucked into her least-holey jeans, boots shiny and polished for the occasion.

“I’m here to speak with Overseer Almodovar.”

Whoever is on the other end of the intercom says nothing, but the door grinds open. She pauses at the console, closes it again, before she heads further into the vault.

She wanders down toward they kissed in, hands in her pockets, ears open for any sound of someone else here.

Amata is already waiting, sitting on the couch, legs stretched under the coffee table, flipping through something on her Pip-Boy.

“Hey,” Alex says, voice low, leans against the door frame and tilts her chin up. Her legs hurt, and she can feel thoughts scratching in the back of her skull, but it’s all still tolerable.

“Hey!” Amata’s face lights up, and Alex steps into the room proper.

“I’m sober, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be any good company.” Alex walks toward the couch, tries to swagger for three steps before she drops it, curls her shoulders in. She tilts her chin down, glances up at Amata, can’t stop the grin that creeps across her face. “It doesn't feel like it’s going to be a good night.”

“That’s alright.” Amata stands up as Alex stops next to her. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Well, we’ll see for how long.” Alex turns and settles onto the couch. Amata sits down again, glances away, then looks back and reaches for Alex’s hand. Alex folds their fingers together.

“How is all your preparation going?” Amata asks, studies the edge of the coffee table. Alex taps her thumb against Amata’s hand.

“Well, no one has killed anyone else yet, which was about all I hoped for.” She laughs, then ducks her head. “I’m afraid it won’t be enough, though.” Quieter, softer, less sure, less of a joke. “If we can’t be big enough and scary enough to be a threat to the Brotherhood, I’m the first one they’ll come after if they figure out someone is in charge.”

“You’re welcome here, if you need somewhere safe.” Amata’s voice is quiet too, and she doesn’t look at Alex.

Alex shakes her head. “The vault door wouldn’t keep them out if they wanted in. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“So what’ll you do?”

“Leave, probably.” Alex sighs. “There’s a lot of the country left that they’re not in.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Amata replies. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll write you letters.” Alex turns to look at Amata, hesitates a moment before leaning in to press a kiss to Amata’s temple. “Every day. If I leave, I’ll write you letters.”

“I hope you don’t have to,” Amata says, drops Alex’s hand, turns and wraps her arms over Alex’s shoulders. Alex responds in kind, rocks side to side as Amata buries her nose in the side of Alex’s neck.

***

The patrol comes over the hill, huge and clanking in their power armor. Alex stays squatted next to the rock she’s chosen as camouflage, squints through binoculars and tries to identify the suits. She doesn't recognize any of them, though, not scuffed in the right places, flecks of blue-gray peelings off to reveal red and black, or their gait and weapons are all wrong.

She ducks behind the rock, leans her back against it, and pulls the walkie talkie off her belt.

“Squad One, this is Alex. Come in, squad one.”

“This is Squad One, we are receiving.” Deep voice, still rough on the edges even though she's making an effort to smooth down the edges. “What are your orders?”

“Sniper fire at the lead of the column. Once he's dropped, or they start returning fire, start throwing grenades. If they start approaching your position, I'll lead them off.”

“Sure thing kid. Squad One, out.”

The radio clicks silent, and a moment later there's a crack of a sniper rifle from the next rise, and the paladin and the front of the column drops like a stone, blood fountaining from the crack in his armor at his neck.

“Wanderer, this is Squad Five, come in, wanderer.” A lighter, higher voice, younger and less chem-ravaged.

“This is Wanderer, squad five report.” Squad Five was on the ridge south of squad one, with explosives and a minigun and a rocket launcher. If they’re in trouble, she's the only one who's gonna be able to get there quick and quiet enough to help.

“We've got a good aim on the patrol Squad One is taking on, can we launch ‘em into next week?”

“If you can do it without hitting squad one, permission granted. Use your good judgement.”

“Ain’t got good judgement left, wasted it all on Psycho,” the radioer from Squad Five grunts. There's a mechanical noise. “But I do have an eye for explosion splash. Squad Five out.”

The patrol is climbing the hill toward squad one, dodging frag grenades they're tossing over the crest as they try to back away to a safer distance.

The back of the patrol disappears in a blinding cloud of dust and an ear-splitting explosion.

Alex taps her radio button.

“Wanderer to Squad Five, come in Squad Five. Good shot! Keep it up!”

“Roger that, ma’am!” squad five laughs, and the radio clicks off.

Alex unhooks the nuka grenade from her belt, cocks her arm back, and takes aim.


End file.
